


Brutal Komedie

by Celestlian



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, Gen, Komedie Brute, War, fae
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2020-10-29 08:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20793410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celestlian/pseuds/Celestlian
Summary: What if the Komedie Brute were based on five characters - all fae - that lived before the time of the Six of Crows duology?





	1. Introduction

MISTER CRIMSON 

A character dressed in red and black. When he appears on stage, the audience calls out, “Mother, Father, pay the rent!” to which he responds, “I can’t, my dear, the money’s spent!” and throws fake coins into the audience. 

THE SCARAB QUEEN 

A character dressed in black and shimmering green, similar to the carapace of a beetle, she covers her face with a gilded, crown-like mask. The audience throws flowers at the Scarab Queen. 

THE MADMAN 

A character dressed in orange and a mask with a hooked beak and bulbous eyes. The audience hisses at the Madman when he appears on stage. 

THE LOST BRIDE 

A character dressed in blue, she covers her face with a veil and wears a crown of flowers. 

THE IMP 

A character dressed in grey and a horned mask with staring eyes.


	2. The Scarab Queen

“Here’s some coins. Keep them.” 

The Imp, Nemanja, caught them. The Scarab Queen, Nala, smiled and shook her head. 

“Nice.” 

The Lost Bride, Faiza, giggled. The Madman paused.

”These are fake aren’t they?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“Oh, go fuck yourself.” 

The Madman threw the fake coins at Mister Crimson, who burst into laughter and clapped his hands. 

“Oh, you’re so stupid.” 

“I’m not!”

”Are too!” 

“Am not!” 

“Will you two stop? I’m getting a headache,” The Lost Bride said. The Scarab Queen sighed and sat next to the young brown woman, her dark skin glowing in the light of the tavern. It was empty apart from those four. 

“Where’s the Madman again?” the Scarab Queen asked.

”Making sure the dead fae stay dead,” Mister Crimson answered, tossing the fake coins up into the air. 

The Lost Bride shuddered. The Scarab Queen sighed again, looking out of the window. 

The Komedie Brute, the name that these group of misfits had given themselves, were five fae all trying to coexist with each other’s communities. There was the Mists, Faiza’s community; the Tricksters, the Nemanja’s community; the Natured, Nala’s community; the Reapers, Aman’s community; and finally the Demonics, Mister Crimson’s community.

Well, if you could call him that.

Mister Crimson’s real name was Lias, but he never used it. As the Scarab Queen looked out the window, she wondered why. 

The Scarab Queen got to her feet. She stretched, then moved, her ethereal demeanour making everyone’s eyes land on her, including the Reaper’s, who had just burst in through the door. The dark-skinned woman turned to him. 

“Aman. Assuring the dead stay dead?” 

“Yes.” 

She nodded once. “Good. Now,” she said, and everyone turned to her. 

“Let’s begin.”


	3. The Lost Bride

The Lost Bride sat, watching the Scarab Queen talk. Slowly, she lifted her veil and revealed her face to look at the Scarab Queen clearly.

Like the woman in front of her, Faiza was incredibly beautiful, with dark brown skin and deep brown eyes, with black wavy hair that trailed down to her back. Unlike Nala though, Faiza had some difficulty speaking. She often wondered how the Scarab Queen achieved otherworldly grace that she wished she could possess. Alas, she could not.

So, like everyone else, Faiza sat and listened to the speech. 

“The Mists and The Demonics have been tense for some time. Care to explain why?” 

_Oh no, _Faiza thought. Nala was getting into the gritty things already. It was too late to do this. She balled her hands into fists to stop them shaking. 

Of course, she knew the reason - the leader of the Mists, her mother, had wanted to strike a truce with the Demonics - leaving her daughter alone in exchange for having all the deals they could wish for.

The Demonics refused.

Faiza knew this because she was the daughter of the leader of the Mists. The Demonics often talked to her, red eyes staring at her - usually through mirrors and through walls, whispers that filled her mind. One of the abilities that the Demonics had was to whisper to others, including other fae, through anything. Faiza had only mentioned it to her mother in passing, but her mother, like most brown parents, now nurtured a grudge against the Demonics.

Faiza suddenly wished right there and then that she could disappear in to the shadows. 

“I...” 

Mister Crimson’s head snapped to look at her. She gulped. He cocked her head to the side.

”It was my fault.” 

“It wasn’t,” Mister Crimson said. She could hear his voice in her head. **It wasn’t your fault, Faiza. They shouldn’t be doing that to you.**

**They wanted to help me.**

**We are called the Demonics, Faiza. We are not helpful. **

Faiza shuddered, and Nala turned towards the Demonic leaning on the bar. “Are you whispering to her?” 

Mister Crimson shrugged. Nala pursed her lips.

“Is this the reason?” 

“Yes,” Mister Crimson said. He then quickly filled Nala in on the information, and Nala nodded.

”Okay, well, why aren’t they stopping? Surely that would be a good deal?” 

“No. They want something with her, but I don’t know what.” 

Mister Crimson flexed his red fingers, and Faiza pursed her lips. She held her head up high.

”Well, I want to ask them what exactly it is they want.” 

”No!” Nemanja said, eyes wide. “They’ll hurt you!” 

“I hate it say this, but he’s right,” Mister Crimson said. He pushed himself off of the bar he was leaning on and rolled his neck and shoulder muscles before looking Faiza straight in the eye. 

“They will.” 

Nala frowned. She cleared her throat, clapping her hands together.

”How are you going to rectify it then?” 

“I don’t know,” Mister Crimson said. “We have to involve the other fae too.” 

“Lias-” Nala started, but the Demonic sighed and shook his head. He looked at Nala and his eyes softened. 

“We’ll work it out, together.” 

“We’ll have to,” Faiza said. She looked at the others. The next words filled the room with a terrible truth.

”Otherwise, we will go to war.”


	4. The Madman

Aman remembered the war.

It had lasted for a year, yet it had changed so much of the fae landscape. He had been only a child then, forced from his home by the army of the Reapers. Being a Reaper himself, he ended up on the battlefield, wandering alone, calling out for his family. 

In the end, he couldn’t find them, and turned around to reap the souls of all the fae who were dead, including his own.

As he sat there in the tavern, the word ‘war’ brought him back to that moment - him crying out for his family, tears streaming down his face, before turning away and seeing the numberless bodies on the ground. He remembered going quiet, and, silently, beginning to reap. 

Aman shuddered. Nemanja frowned and put his hand on Aman’s.

”Are you okay?” 

Aman could still remember how he’d found his family after he’d reaped the souls of the people he’d seen on the battlefield. His family were all dead in a ditch, with open, glossy eyes. He remembered screaming their names and then remembered hands pulling in to his feet, remembered Reapers throwing him over their shoulder and carrying him away as he wailed. 

Aman closed his eyes.

”I don’t know.” 

“Let’s stop talking about it, then,” Mister Crimson said.

Aman opened his eyes and looked at him. Mister Crimson cocked his head to the side as he watched him and Aman looked away, grabbing onto Nemanja’s hand. 

“What do we do now?” His voice came out hoarse.

”We go home,” Faiza said, getting to her feet. Nemanja looked at her and Aman watched as she stretched before closing her eyes. The Mists were said to be beautiful, and as Faiza vanished into silver smoke, Aman knew that the rumours were correct. She was indeed gorgeous. 

Nala walked to the door before giving the three men a look. “Tomorrow, we’ll meet in the woods. I have a plan.” 

Then, Nala left, and the door slammed, leaving the three men in the dimly lit darkness. 

When the Mister Crimson vanished, and Nemanja teleported away and Aman had walked out the door, the only candle that was lit blew out, leaving no light in the tavern.

_

As Aman lay awake in his bed, he flexed his fingers. If he listened carefully enough, he could hear his sister’s laughter, his mother’s violin, and his dad’s singing, foot tapping to the beat.

“Goodnight,” he whispered into the darkness. 

There was no answer. He closed his eyes, and he only heard silence.


	5. The Imp

Nemanja was annoyed. 

It wasn't like him to be annoyed. Usually, the Tricksters wished to end such negative emotions with their pranks, hoping to make everyone around them happy. It was just how it was. After the war, the Tricksters still needed time to adjust. 

It was why there wasn’t as many smiles as there was before.

But he wasn’t annoyed because of that. Nemanja was annoyed because a certain Demonic was late.

The four present members of the Komedie Brute were standing in the forest. Autumn leaves surrounded them, and one leaf fell onto Faiza’s head. She yelped, shaking her head so that it joined the other leaves on the floor.

”What the hell is taking him so long?” The Madman fumed. His hands shook with cold. It was an unnaturally chilly September, and Nemanja shuddered as the cold breeze swept around him, making goosebumps appear on his arms. 

“He’s never this late.” Nala raised her head to look at the horizon, where the sun was rising. Annoyance tinged her tone. It was clear she too was irked by Lias’ absence.

“Why, do you miss him?” Nemanja teased. Nala shot him a look, and the Trickster withered under the woman’s gaze. He flushed, looking down at the ground.

_Stop being stupid, _Nemanja thought to himself. Of course Nala would notice these things about Lias - she was their leader, after all.

”It’s cold,” Faiza whispered. Nemanja looked at her shivering violently in her dress. He was suddenly even more annoyed than before. You didn’t just leave people to wait for you like this. It was not the fae way.

When Lias _did_ appear, fifteen minutes had passed. Nemanja suddenly wanted to punch the bastard in the face. 

“You’re late. You’ve held everyone up. Faiza is freezing. Care to elaborate your lateness?” Nala asked.

Nemanja watched Lias’ face. Lias had just turned nineteen. He was the youngest man in the group, compared to Aman and Nemanja, who were well into being nineteen, and Nala, who was twenty. The only one younger than Lias was Faiza, at eighteen.

In the cold light of the autumn dawn, Lias looked his age.

”Let’s go inside.” 

Nemanja walked inside first, then Nala and Faiza and Aman followed him. Nemanja didn’t miss the way Lias glanced at Faiza as he closed the door.

Lias and Nala lit the candles. Nala then sighed, settling on a chaise.

Nemanja looked around. This place was bigger than their usual meeting place, and more luxurious too. A fire roared away in the fireplace, and plush couches were dotted around the room. 

He sat next to Aman and Faiza, who were sat next to the fireplace. 

“So. Gotten up to any tricks recently?”

”Mister Crimson, please.” 

Lias sighed. He looked down and flexed his hands as everyone waited for his answer. Nemanja wondered whether Lias would ever take off that red mask of his.

”I was...trading.” 

Nala pursed her lips. “Trading what? Souls?” 

“No. Had to get some stuff done. Someone didn’t hold up their end of the deal.” 

Nemanja shuddered. He knew the Reapers dealt with death, but the Demonics were a whole different story. They killed purposefully when a deal was not upheld. It was scary to imagine how much blood was on Lias’ hands. 

Faiza was looking into the fire, not speaking. Nemanja watched her for a few minutes, then looked at Lias. He was staring at her.

”Lias! Cut it! Stop giving heart eyes at Faiza and talk about why you were late!”

”I just did!” Lias exclaimed as he snapped out of his trance. Was he...blushing? No. That was stupid. Mister Crimson never showed that kind of emotion. 

_Do some critical thinking,_ _Nemanja_, the Imp thought to himself.

He turned to Nala. “Why are we here, anyway?” 

“I’m inviting you to my coronation.” 

Excitement swept through the room. Nala was a princess of the Natured. Soon, she’d finally be Queen.

”Wait, are we going undercover?” Aman asked. 

“No. Consider this a peace treaty. You come as yourselves, and we help the fae communities flourish together.” 

“Win win, I’d say.” Aman was smiling. Nemanja stared at his lips for a few seconds before snapping out of his trance.

When the five left that day, Nemanja couldn’t help but smile.


	6. Mister Crimson

Lias walked into the cave. He stepped onto the coals: burning hot, immediate flames coming up to swirl around his feet. A man on the throne was dressed in black, a black mask fixed over his face. He hissed in greeting.

”You are late, Lias.” 

Lias walked further inside. Immediately the coal door slammed shut. Lias pursed his lips.

”I had business to do.” 

“I know.” The Demon Leader tapped his fingers on the throne. “Have you seen the girl?” 

Lias knew who the leader was talking about.

”No,” he lied, stepping forward. He then knelt at the throne. The leader sighed.

”Okay. Fine. Go. I know you did your business in the morning.” 

Lias snorted. “You make it sound like I’ve shat myself.” 

Laughter rang throughout the cave. As Lias made his way to his abode, he hissed in greeting to his fellow Demonics, and they hissed back. One of them cocked their head to the side and hissed again. Lias laughed, then ducked underneath the person’s arm and pulled back the curtain to his room. 

The nineteen-year-old grabbed his poker and made it red hot in the flames. He then placed it on his arm and sighed. That felt so good.

There was a squawk. Lias smiled as his phoenix landed on his shoulder.

”Hello Flame,” he said.

”SQUAWK!” 

The phoenix’s noise made Lias hiss, and the phoenix hissed back in greeting, cocking its head unnaturally downwards before leaping up into the air.

Lias watched as Flame circled above. Lias sighed, closing his eyes. He still remembered the way the fire danced in the fireplace, and how Faiza’s whole figure lit up in its light.

Lias opened his eyes and looked up at Flame again. It was a stupid name to give his bird, but in his defence, he’d been like, five, so he’d been forgiven by everyone else, who ALL had phoenixes with cool names. 

Phoenixes were given to Demonics when they were born. Lias didn’t have a mother or a father - Demonics were made from fire. It was strange - he was a flame, and then he wasn’t. Demonics had excellent memory, too - which was useful when striking a deal.

Lias grabbed his red poker and peeked outside. People were now going to bed. Good.

The young Demonic crept out when everyone had gone. He closed his eyes.

**Faiza. Can you hear me?**

**I’m just about to go to sleep. Don’t do this now, dammit.**

**Okay, I’ll go bother Nemanja then.**

Lias thought he could hear her laugh. The link disconnected. The young Demonic sighed. He linked to Nemanja.

**Hi.**

**No.**

Lias inwardly groaned. 

**Can we just talk for a second? I’m sorry I was late. Also, what do we wear to Nala’s coronation?**

**I forgive you...for now. And she said to wear flowers.**

**Ugh.**

**What?**

Lias looked around the cave. It was deathly silent.

**You can’t exactly find flowers where Demonics are.**

**Go outside bitch! Feel the sun!**

**It’s night. **

**Feel the moon, then.**

**You are _so_ annoying. **

**Meet Aman and I tomorrow. We’re going to find stuff too.**

**Aight. See you later.**

**See you. Sleep tight. Don’t let a poker get in your eye.**

Lias blinked. **Wait, wh-**

The link disconnected. Lias snorted.

”Looks like I’m going shopping tomorrow, Flame,” Lias said to his companion as he settled into bed. Flame nuzzled Lias, and Lias kissed the phoenix’s head. 

Lias hissed. The phoenix hissed back a goodnight. The Demonic closed his eyes. He thought of the Demonic motto before he fell asleep.

_May tomorrow be better than today._


	7. The Scarab Queen

Nala grabbed onto the branch and hoisted herself upwards. Flowers were put into her hair as her mother began to speak.

”I’m so proud of you, Nala.” Her mother smiled softly. “I’m so glad that you will become our Queen.” 

Nala didn’t fight the smile that came to her face this time. “I’m honoured to take it up.” 

Nala’s mother beamed, planting a kiss on her daughter’s cheek before she got to her feet. Nala turned round and watched her mother manipulate the branches to allow her to walk to the palace undisturbed. 

“Come when you’re done,” the woman said. “I have more to talk about with you.”

“Okay.”

Now that she was alone, Nala closed her eyes. She felt the wind on her face and smiled wider, thinking of the coronation that was going to happen soon.

_Once I become Queen, I will change things for good._

It was one thing to have power and be productive, and another to have power and not use it. Nala had been thinking of merging the technology they had right now with the Natured’s powers. It would be strange for the fae since no fae had tried that before, but hopefully, it would work. Her community needed the help; at the moment, people were struggling a bit.

_Because of the war,_ Nala thought, and her smile dropped. The fae war was something not to be taken lightly. Nala knew that because her mother and father had told her stories of the war when she was young, about 16-17. She still remembered how she’d spent her childhood inside whilst blood was spilled outside the palace gates. Nala wondered what it must’ve been like for Aman, who was born in a tent, hiding from war. 

Losing her whole family...she couldn’t have that. Not now. Not ever. 

Nala got to her feet and began to walk to the palace. Her pet bird, Free, landed on her arm. Nala smiled and petted her animal. The creature tweeted and nuzzled her, the flowers on its feet as soft as the feathers on its body. Nala beamed as she entered the palace yet again. 

She couldn’t wait to make change.


	8. The Lost Bride

Faiza walked with her mother along the grass. The older Mist was shaken by Faiza’s connection with the Demonics. She could tell.

“They haven’t said anything today.” 

Faiza clutched her hands. She always did it when she was lying. 

“Really?” Her mother raised an eyebrow, and Faiza sighed, looking away. 

“Okay, they have, but that was early in the morning.” 

“Did they wake you?” 

_Yes. _”No. I was already awake when they talked.” 

In a way, she was telling the truth. She had been about to go to sleep when Lias had called her, and _technically_ it had happened in the morning, since it had been midnight then. 

_Half truths are always better than outright lies._

Faiza shook her head and was about to continue walking. However, her mother put up a hand. 

“See that bridge?” 

Faiza looked at it. “Yes.” 

“This leads to the Natured.” 

“And?” 

“They’re good people. You’re friends with Nala, aren’t you?” 

Faiza froze, worried her mother had found out about the Komedie Brute - until she remembered that Nala and her had been friends for a long time, and she relaxed. 

“Yes. She’s lovely.” 

“I’m glad. You’ll be attending her coronation, yes?”

”Yes.” Faiza felt her mouth go dry. The others were fine, but would Lias be allowed into the fray? 

“Good. You’re going to need your powers. There are people there who aren’t exactly looking for peace.” 

_You’re one of them,_ Faiza thought. How many times had her mother told her the Demonics were bad? They weren’t. For all of Lias’s faults and shortcomings, he was good. Faiza hadn’t met the other Demonics, but she had never seen them as what her mother had told her to see them as. They were not monsters. They were people - and one of these days, Faiza would speak her mind. 

It was inevitable.

As Faiza made her way back to the castle, she looked at her mother’s back. Nala would be crowned Queen - then, she’d create change, and her mother would have to comply to it. But that didn’t mean Faiza couldn’t do her own part in changing her mother’s mind. 

These days would be tense, but Faiza would get through them. 

She didn’t have a choice. If she didn’t, tensions would rise, and war would come again. 

Without speaking, Faiza walked to the gardens and sat down on the swing. 

She needed time to think.


	9. The Madman

Aman dragged Lias with him. In front of him, Nemanja was talking animatedly about the latest play his community had put on. 

Unlike the Reapers, the Tricksters loved performance and art. It was one of the many things Aman loved about Nemanja - his enthusiasm and his ability to be optimistic never failed to lift his spirits. 

“Madman, what are you going to choose?” Nemanja asked. Aman looked at the shirts, his eyes scanning the rack. He picked out a smart white shirt decorated with red and yellow flowers and green leaves, with frills on the sleeves. 

“Uh, not this.” 

Nemanja snorted, then hummed as he looked through the assortment of shirts on another rack. Aman smiled on hearing the tune Nemanja was humming, and kept looking.

”I like this.” The Reaper picked out another white shirt, this time with pink flowers decorating the sleeves and the hem. 

”That doesn’t seem like something you’d wear to a coronation.” 

Aman whipped round to find Lias leaning against the wall, a shirt already in hand. 

“Oh yeah? Then what do you call that?” 

“_This?_ It’s a shirt, the hell do you think it is?” 

Aman squinted. A green shirt with black flowers. 

“Uh...It’s. Really bad.” 

“What? No it’s...” Lias looked at what he’d picked, then made a face. “You’re right, this is awful. I’ll change it.” 

Aman laughed, then turned back and picked out black trousers. He was fine with shoes - he had a pair at home that would fit perfectly.

“Well?” Nemanja’s voice came from beside him, and Aman froze as the Imp put an arm over his shoulders. “You did good Aman!” He took his arm away from the Reaper, and Aman let out a deep breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He turned to look at Nemanja, and jealousy and longing roiled in his gut on seeing that Nemanja had gotten changed into his coronation outfit. He wore a blue floral shirt over a black vest with matching trousers. 

“How do you have such good fashion?” 

“I’m not white, that’s how,” Nemanja teased. Aman snorted. 

“You and me both.” The Suli fae picked up the clothes he’d chosen, then watched as Nemanja disappeared into the changing room once more. Shaking his head with a fond smile on his face, Aman went into a changing room that was free, and tried on the outfit. 

Once he’d tried it on, gotten changed back into his original outfit and left the changing room, Aman paid the seller. 

“Lias! Come on!” Aman called. Nemanja came out, grinning. 

“Taking a long time, isn’t he?” 

“He is.” Aman tapped his foot, then looked at Nemanja. Nemanja smiled at him, and Aman’s heart fluttered. He stopped tapping his foot, and waited whilst fidgeting with the bag his new clothes were in.

Lias walked out with a bag, and Aman smiled.

“Come on slow pokes,” he teased. “Let’s go get lunch.”

Lias chuckled. “Alright, let’s go.”

“See? I _told_ you you’d feel better coming with us.” 

Lias grinned. “Alright, alright, I admit it. You were right.” 

Aman smiled wider, and Nemanja put his arm around Aman. This time, Aman didn’t stiffen, instead grinning at Nemanja. Lias was smiling, and for now, all felt right with the world.

The Komedie Brute was his new family, in a way, and he was glad for it. 


	10. The Imp

Nemanja stared up at the sky, walking back to the Tricksters. The Tricksters, as a whole, liked to live together - which was why the entire community lived in a gigantic house, with several corridors and lots of rooms.

Nemanja stepped into the foyer. He looked around. Before the war, they Tricksters were truly happy. Now, there was an underlying sadness he wished would disappear immediately. 

“Nemanja,” his little sister said. The Imp picked her up, and she laughed. 

“Hello Dia,” he beamed. 

“Are you going to Princess Nala’s coronation?” Dia asked. Nemanja held her hand as they walked to one of the many living rooms. 

“Yes, I am.” 

Dia gasped. “Could you tell her hi from me? And tell her she’s really pretty?” 

Nemanja smiled softly. “I will.” 

Stepping into the living room, Nemanja sat down, where other people waited. His mother walked up to him. 

“How are you?” 

“I’m good,” Nemanja said, but then he saw the blade in his mum’s hands, and he frowned. _That can’t be good, _he thought. 

“What’s that blade for?” Nemanja asked casually. 

“You know how it is. We’re training.” 

“Again?” 

Another thing the Tricksters were doing was training their people to fight. Nemanja didn’t know how to feel about that. He knew the war had happened but...another war could still be avoided, right? 

_I hope so. Tricksters excel in the arts, not...whatever this is. _

His mum moved like a dancer away from him, and Nemanja sighed. Her training would mean he’d have to continue training, too - but he just wanted to look after little Dia. 

Speaking of Dia, where was she? 

Nemanja looked around, growing more and more frantic by the second - until he heard a scream of laughter, and turned back. His mum was tickling Dia, and Dia was laughing. Her blade was tucked into her belt, far away from Dia so that she wouldn’t get hurt. Smiling slightly, Nemanja walked over. 

“Mum,” he said. His mum smiled at him, and Dia sat up, face flushed. 

“That wasn’t fair!” she whined at her mum, who just ruffled her hair and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. Nemanja watched the domestic sight and wished they could be like this forever. 

But nothing went back to normal. Not after the war. Tensions were high, and everyone was hoping that the coronation of Nala would allow for the relaxing of guards. People already weren’t happy that Demonics were attending, not with the rumour (proved to be true by Faiza) at the Demonics were harassing the daughter of the Mists’ Leader. 

But that was just the leader of the Demonics. Lias himself hadn’t - well, he had a few times. But Lias, despite all his flaws, was good. And Nemanja wasn’t about to start stereotyping Demonics like some others in his community. 

The coronation was going to be held in high esteem by all fae communities. Nemanja knew his being there would mean that the Komedie Brute would meet once again before the coronation - Nala had thought of the plan. Their task was to make sure everything went smoothly by visibly interacting with fae from the other communities. Nemanja was sure people would give him a scolding after the coronation, but it was better to just do what the Komedie Brute as a group had decided. 

After all, if it meant war could be stopped, then that would be good enough for him. Less people dying, less people in danger. 

“Nemanja!” an official called. Nemanja got to his feet. Everyone was looking at him. 

“Yes?” 

“Your training slot starts soon. Please go to the-” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get my axe,” Nemanja said. The official did not glare at him, but instead tutted. Nemanja stalked past him out of the living room, taking wide strides towards the training hall. He went to his locker and grabbed his mask. 

Once, this mask was used for performance. Now, it had been altered to provide protection. Nemanja wished so badly then, that everything could go back to the way it was. 

But he knew that after the war, nothing was ever the same again. And he feared if there was another, there would be no normal to change. 


End file.
